As I sat watching the massacre unfold it reminded me of the old cowboy flicks my dad loved. In this movie the Bluebaggers played the part of Custer's seventh (or perhaps of Judd's Sitting Ducks). Most of the slaughter happened in the opening fifteen minute attack (just like in any good western where half the soldiers are lost in the opening 10 minutes and then the gritty holding pattern, hunkered down behind the supply wagons deep in defence, the horses lost - no run -, the fort too far away - no chance to regroup - after an opening like that there is no chance to attack or to retreat, just an effort to survive, a dour struggle not to have the hair become a show-piece in some smoky Magpie Teepee.
Even if we did manage to counter-attack it didn't matter – these boys in Blue couldn't hit the side of a barn with a gattling gun from 10 feet away! Grown men beside me wept, as grown men are wont too when the movie is so bad it beggars belief, while women and children took to watching who was sitting in the stands around them rather than waste their time with the game itself.
Oh how could Custer lead his army to such ruin? How could we run out under the bright lights of a chance at history and run smack dab into the middle of the rampaging horde, our horses tired, our scouts searching in the wrong mountain range and our sights, our sights so askew we should have aimed to miss our forwards and might then have hit a few – maybe aimed to pass to Thirdup Maxwell or Shaw Squaw and so keep them both kick-less.
Poor old Matthew Kruezer must have felt like a rolling tumble weed caught in the sudden rain, every ball aimed at his lead plonked down hard on his head. As for Fev, well that Fev didn't spit the dummy is about the only thing to take out of Friday night's game (that and Kruezer's effort to redeem himself whenever he made a mistake, I love this kid!). His one mark came from a slips catch because the ball went so wide the wicket keeper would have stood no chance. Fev led and led and we ran out of lead as we wasted more shots than kids at a sideshow rifle gallery.
Like Custer, did the boys get ahead of themselves, did they already see their name up in lights and forget that the Magpies, while not the greatest team running around, are well drilled by chief Crazyhouse (and now joined by Big 'Um UglyMug Buckley) and will slaughter any would-be cavalry charge that sets off in a canter as if after women and children instead of fierce warriors?
In fact this was no seventh cavalry massacre, this was more akin to F Troop - I am certain I saw a light tower topple in the opening credits of the game! Anything that could go wrong did go wrong. We fought, oh how we fought - particularly the defence, but if their was a mark to be dropped, we dropped it, a kick to shank, we shanked it, a handball to fumble, well, we not only fumbled it, we often gifted it, peace pipe fashion, to the magpie nation. We should have come bearing gifts, that way we might have stood a chance. Instead we ran straight into their trap and then heading home on the Iron wagons we had to endure their gleeful dance around the burning pyre of our finals chances.
Instead of steely-eyed glints , we rode out from the fort all sprightly and sparkling in the evening lights and promptly fell out of the saddle and lost ourselves in a shambles of what football isn't.
So now the lads must mount again, must get right back on the old horse and try to redeem themselves. It will not be easy. Once again the opposing tribe has seen fit to find a champion to retire the very week they play us. Oh how these nations hate us, how we play the part of the invader to their wigwam wallopings.
But not this time. Not this time, prancing kangaroo hoping to ambush us in a Simpson desert. This time we will come ready to play. Ready to work hard and most importantly of all, ready to play football – you know, that sport where when you kick the ball, it spins beautifully and hits the forward lace out. We should try that one. I know Custer never felt the need to practise but then that's why his only stand was his last. Let's not follow suit. Let's stand tall, regroup and show the world, or at least part thereof, what we are made of.
I hope Setanta is ready, we have missed his fire and his leads. I'd also like Robbo and Garlett to return and give us grunt and run. We need to remember to run hard, to attack the ball and the player, not run away from them hoping they make an error rather than force them into one. We need to show some intensity.
We are not redcoats, not turncoats, not showcoats. We are bluebaggers, it's time to stand up and be counted as such. It's time to play with fire, with skill and speed and desire.
Fev for 7 – because we hit his chest!
Judd to get support in the middle
Gibbs to be B.O.G.
Go Blues!
Please Note: the views expressed in the above article are solely the opinion of the author and do not reflect the opinions of the Carlton Football Club or those employees of the Club. The Carlton Football Club would like to acknowledge the tireless work of those supporters who contribute to carltonfc.com.au.
